


Marionette

by Mistress_Kalamity



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9812825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_Kalamity/pseuds/Mistress_Kalamity
Summary: My father is a psychiatrist. Every day as a child, I used to try and get home when he would have the high school patients. They were all so funny to me. They talked about sex, peer pressure and depression. I thought they just had issues.Issues…It was not like that with him.





	1. The Diary of a Mad Man

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://s1326.photobucket.com/user/Karyla_BestBestie_Kaulitz/media/bannerm_zpspd9oq5en.jpg.html)

My father was a psychiatrist. Every day as a child, I used to try and get home when he would have the high school patients. They were all so funny to me. They talked about sex, peer pressure and depression. I thought they just had issues. _Issues…_ It was not like that with him. I was 14, the summer my parents and I moved to Crystal Lake. It was a old town kind of place with large brick houses and some smaller paneled ones. My dad wanted to move his practice and my mom wanted to just see something new. My little sister and I were very upset to be moving to a shitty house in no man’s land but we had no choice. The house was pretty cool then. The high floors and ceilings made the outer structure look almost like a castle. I felt like I lived in a fortress. I followed my parents up to my new room which overlooked this weird lake thing. There were a few kids hanging there so I figured that one day after school I’d check it out. Other than discovering the hanging spot, I pretty much just smoked a cigarette around my block. Some idiot kids pushed me down for smoking and tried to make me eat it. I kicked them all in the face. Didn’t get caught though. I ran home after that and decided that I didn’t care about the kids in this town, they all sucked. My parents and I lived in that house for 3 months I think before dad started seeing patients again and….

*****

“Mr. Kaulitz, are you alright?” the psychiatrist asks.

Tom blinks for a moment and then looks at the man. He doesn’t remember walking into this room. He doesn’t remember laying down. He doesn’t remember anything. He looks down at his arms, all tied around him in the strait jacket. He thrusts himself from the couch in a panic, screaming as he hits the ground. The doctor calls in two nurses to calm down the teenager. 

“NO! GET OFF OF ME!” Tom screams.

He’s bucking up off the ground, tears piercing his eyes. They pick him up kicking and screaming and strap him to a stretcher. Tom screams even louder as he’s dragged down a hall with no windows. He can smell the chemicals and feel the imprisonment of his surroundings. He wants to be free, he wants them to let him go. 

“Calm down, Kaulitz, you’re almost back to your room, you crazy kid.”

“UNHAND ME!” Tom screams.

The pull the stretcher into a room with no table, no real bed, no windows, and no lamp. It is a padded room and it is his home. They toss him inside and replace the strait jacket with two giant cubes on his hands. They lock the door and leave him alone in the room. He lays down on the floor and screams his loudest. Screams until his throat is raw and he cannot produce the sounds anymore. He lays there in silence, crying, not understanding why he is stuck there. He did nothing wrong. He only did what he was told to do. He only followed directions. He looks at the walls and blood spills down them. He sits up and tries to escape the blood, banging his whole body up against the door. He somehow screams for help, but no one comes. No one cares about the screams of a crazy man. He is only 16 and the world deemed him a danger to not just himself but society as well. 

“PLEASE YOU’VE GOTTA HELP ME! THERE’S SO MUCH BLOOD! YOU’VE GOTTA HELP ME, PLEASE!” He screams.

The nurses only focus on the task that’s got their attention. Tom’s eyes defy him and soon the whole room is covered in the stuff. He gets down on the ground in fetal position and starts to whimper. He just wants the voices to go away. He wants it to just go away.


	2. 2 Years Ago

The house blossomed when they drove up. Tom looks up at the large brick house with the iron gate and fence surrounding it. It wasn’t perfect but it still looked impressive. The teen gets out of the car once it comes to a complete stop in the driveway and he looks even closer at it. He didn’t understand why the previous owners would abandon it. His mother jogs up to him with his little sister and he scoffs.

“It’s old,” he smirks.

“I know, it was built in the early 1800s,” Simone chirps. 

He tosses his football around in his hands and follows his family into the house. The walls are paneled, something Simone intends to change once she settles on a specific look for the house. She takes Genevieve’s hand and leads the angsty 12 year old up to her room. She got a little mouthy back at the old house, Simone wanted to keep the girl close. She had a habit of running off and smoking cigarettes with people she really shouldn’t be around. Same as Tom. They both hung around people who just weren’t good at all. 

Tom follows his dad up to his room and he likes it. It has space, the view is nice and he has a small balcony to walk out on. A place to smoke when he didn’t want his parents to know but he didn’t feel like walking outside. He decides to really make this a boy’s space. He gets right to work, opening up various boxes of his things to see what was inside so he could think about the space distribution. He sighs at the pale blue walls, they were ugly compared to the rest of the room. What was with the hardwood floors? He takes out his posters first, typical teen posters too; movies he enjoyed, video games, hot girls, whatever. He finishes off the room with his bed, moving it until it was at an angle with the walk in bathroom door. He stands back and looks at his work. The floor could use some carpeting, something he’d mention later but other than that, it is a good looking room. 

The teen wanders outside and sits down on the balcony. He spots a bunch of people smoking at this lake area he could see right into from his spot. He lit up one of his cigs and takes deep drags. He knows his parents hate when he smokes but they don’t have much say in what he does. They know he’ll do it anyway. He puts it out when it was half way and walks back into the room. He is shocked to see his mother is standing there with her arms crossed.

“I really wish you’d quit,” she sighs.

“Not in a million years, mama,” he smirks.

She enters the room and walks until she’s on the balcony space. Tom soon joins her and stands right next to her. 

“You have a beautiful view,” she sighs.

“I know.”

She turns to Tom and smiles. He is her pride and joy, her little boy. She cups his face in her hands and smiles yet again, letting a small giggle pass her lips. She lets go and her expression changes.

“Tomi, have you...been giving Genie cigarettes?”

“No, mom. I don’t know how she’s been getting them. I keep them locked up.”

“Did you….you know influence her smoking?”

“No, mama. I had nothing to do with that. I don’t even smoke in front of her.”

The doting mother nods and she leaves the room. Tom always worried about his little sister. She’s been going through so much for someone her age. She got PTSD from bullying, still wakes up screaming some nights and some idiots took advantage of her at 11 when she was leaving the library one night. She hasn’t been the same since. Tom looks out for her though. He doesn’t allow for her to get out of control. Genie loves her brother and would go to him for anything, knowing he kind of understands her. 

The teen plops down on his bed and looks up at the ceiling. This is home now and he has to know find ways to make the new world, new experience worth his wild.

****

The door opens bright and early Tuesday morning. Tom stretches his muscles and flinches a little when the door downstairs closes and it echoes through the house. He makes his way downstairs and sees his dad has gone out to grab breakfast. His sister is picking at a raisin bagel while scrolling through her phone. Simone sits down next to her daughter, sipping coffee and peeking ever so slightly at the screen.

“Ah the sleeping giant has awoken from his slumber,” his dad jokes. “Hey champ, ready for school.”

“I guess, I don’t know anybody out here.”

“You can make friends. You’re a Kaulitz,” his dad smiles.

Tom only rolls his eyes and sits down at the table. He picks up a bagel for himself and smears, butter, cream cheese and jelly all over both halves before slapping them together and taking a huge bite. His sister looks up from her phone and scoffs in disgust.

“You are gross,” she says simply. 

Tom only opens his mouth to show the half chewed food inside. His mother turns away and his dad laughs.

“Okay, children, Thomas close your mouth and Genevieve don’t instigate your brother,” Simone scolds. 

Jorg silences his laughter with a sip of coffee and winks at his son. He is an older brother too and he knows all the gags. When Simone isn’t looking he fistbumps the teen. 

“So what's the plan for today?” Jorg asks his kids.

“School. Then I might go boarding and find some friends. What about you guys?”

Jorg looks at Simone and then back at Tom.

“I have a new patient today actually. He’s coming in when you kids get out of school.”

Tom nods and takes a large gulp of juice, earning another scoff from his little sister.

“I have lost my appetite watching this monster eat,” she groans.

“Oh no, young lady, you sit and eat breakfast. I don’t need you falling asleep in class,” Simone lectures.

The young girl rolls her eyes and returns to picking her bagel. Tom gets up from the table to go grab a shower. The water stream relaxes his muscles and finally he steps out to get dressed. A simple pair of jeans, a tee and some sneakers, nothing crazy. He pulls his dreads into his cap and snatches his bag and board next to the door. 

“Later, mom and dad,” he calls as he runs out the door.

The parents wave at their son and he boards in the direction of his school. He lights up a cigarette and watches the world get clouded in a thin film of smoke. Everything moves slowly. He arrives at the school, cig still tight in his lips. He hops off the board and walks into the quad when he feels himself be shoved.

“Hey, new kid! Who told you that you could smoke here?!”

He looks at the person who thought it was wise to touch him and it was some jock kid with too much hair and too much body order for a teen male. Tom takes the cig out of his mouth and glares at the giant.

“I can smoke whereever I want. My cigarettes, my life, my choices, dick head.”

Tom is shoved to the ground and the large kid tries to make Tom eat the cigarette. Tom kicks him off and kicks them all when they tackle him. They get large kicks to the face and Tom runs off to hide. He doesn’t stay after that, mostly hanging around the lake near his house and the parks, avoiding cops and truancy. He returns home and finds his sister is getting lectured yet again for something. He keeps walking until he’s called back by his mother. He enters the kitchen, careful to hide his face from his mother.

“Thomas, the school called, you kicked three boys and you were marked absent!”

He turns to face her and she gasps when she sees some of the bruises on his face. She walks over and barely touches his face when she pulls away.

“Did they do this to you?”

Before he can talk his dad walks in and he groans. He didn’t need this attention right now.

“What happened to your face?” His dad asks.

“I got into a fight with some guys,” Tom admits.

The doting parents look at each other and their father crosses his arms. He knows that a lecture is sure to follow. Fighting on your first day isn’t exactly a good thing. He looks back up at his parents and his dad parts his lips.

“Well, what do the other kids look like?” Jorg asks.

“Jorg?!” Simone exclaims as she slaps his arm.

“What?! Tom doesn’t fight, Simmy and you know that. So if he fought, they gave him good reason.”

The blonde sighs while placing her hand on her forehead. She knew there was no changing his mind about this. Jorg let Tom get away with a lot. She had to admit, at times she did too. She only walks away from the taller males and goes back to Genevieve.

“What’d you do?” Tom asks, once he and his sister are released from the parents’ interrogation.

“Threw a textbook at a girl who called me a bitch for sitting in her “unassigned-assigned” seat.”

Tom chortles out a laugh. Genie has no chill. She is just aggressive on all fronts. Both kids ascend the staircase and part ways when they each go their individual rooms. Tom agreed with himself to try again tomorrow. Avoid those assholes mostly, try to find some friends or just go it solo, the teen didn’t care. He sits in his room until he hears the doorbell, intrigued. He climbs out of bed and slowly goes to the stairs, approaching them carefully enough to see the base and door but not be in anyone’s field of vision. His dad opens the door and in walks a older man and a younger teen. He has long black hair that is tied back onto the nape of his neck and he’s wearing all dark clothing. There’s nail polish chipping off his nails but even Tom could see normally it’s a dark coat of black. He can’t hear anything but he sees his dad shake the man’s hand and then he leaves, the teen now standing alone with Tom’s father. Must be the new patient, Tom thinks to himself. 

As they walk to his dad’s home office, Tom catches his gaze and a cold chill runs down his spine. Who is that kid? He wants to know. Tom’s father usually saw regular teenagers but that one wasn’t like the others. He had an inner darkness and Tom could feel it. It only drew him in more.

***

“Let’s start with names, my name is Jorg Kaulitz,” the psychiatrist smiles.

“My name is William but everyone I’ve ever had the fortune of communicating with calls me Bill.”

The doctor writes that down and then looks back up at the boy. He’s pulled his feet up onto the couch until his feet are pressed up against each other and he’s rocking back and forth while looking at the large bookshelves in the room.

“You read all of these, doc?”

“Let’s talk about you, Bill. Where are you from?”

“Bridgeport. It’s a little place a few minutes north of Crystal Lake. Got any children, I don’t see any pictures of them.”

“What about school? Where do you go to school?”

“I can’t go to school. It’s not safe. Do you have kids?”

“For you? Are you threatened?”

“No, it’s not safe for anyone else. Are you avoiding my questions, doc?”

“No, I just feel this session should only be about you,” the doctor smiles.

Bill stops rocking and looks at Jorg with a downgaze without bringing his head down to fully look at him. He finally turns his head and faces him.

“You can’t expect me to spill my guts and you give me nothing, doc.”

“Fine, yes I have two children.”

“There we go! Alright! Boy and Girl? How old?’

“Yes, 12 and 14,” the doctor sighs.

Bill resumes rocking and puts his head down. Jorg records his behavior and looks at his notepad for more questions. He is a transfer from an old friend who said that Jorg might be the one to crack this boy. Bill saw many therapists and many of them could not make him truly open up. 

“Tell me, when did the dreams or nightmares first start?”

“Don’t make the mistake, doc. They are not nightmares. I love my dreams.”

“Okay, that’s fine. When did they start?”

“Oh I would say when I was 7. I don’t know why but I have always wanted to just….hurt people. I like the smell and feel of blood. When I was five, I killed my guinea pig. I squeezed him until his neck snapped and then I ripped his tiny head off. It was so…..funny. The way it squirmed in my hands, begging me to let it breathe and I didn’t. I just kept squeezing and squeezing until….nothing,” Bill admits while giggling.

Jorg stops writing and looks up at the boy. He matches his gaze and smiles.

“Do you have these thoughts often?”

“Oh all the time. The other doctors they tried to give me medication, I didn’t take it. It makes the dreams go away and I love my dreams.”

Jorg put his pen down and looks right at the teen boy. He couldn’t be no older than his own son. He crosses his arms and gives him that ‘you know what I am about say’ look.

“Bill, you have to take your medication. If you don’t, how do you expect to function with your psychosis.”

“I don’t want to function, doc! I like being like this. I like sleeping every night and imagining walking into that school, with a large gun and just open firing on all of them. I like watching the images in my dreams fill with blood and hear them scream. It turns me on.”

“Why do you wanna kill your classmates? Did they bully you?”

“Oh heavens no! They ignored me. They all just ignored me. They didn’t want to talk to me. They all think I’m a freak, a freak! So, I WANT THEM ALL TO DIE!” He snaps.

“Relax, Bill.”

The teen stops rocking and drops his legs. He looks away and then down at the ground. A sickening laugh escapes his lips and he looks back up at Jorg.

“Do you….do you think I’m crazy, doc?”

“No, just tormented. I think the drugs will work, if you take them.”  
Bill shakes his head and then stands up. He walks over to the window and runs a finger along the glass pane. He watches the people walk around and is filled with the desire to tear them all to shreds and watch the blood flow from their bodies.

“No way, doc. I like being this way. It’s the world that doesn’t like it.”

“The world is worried that you may hurt yourself….or someone else.”

Bill looks back at Jorg and smiles. He just takes his seat and pulls his sleeves over his hands. Jorg looks at the boy as he leans forward looking at his sneakers, dirty and worn on his feet. He starts rocking back and forth, not saying anything else. The doctor didn’t know what could cause psychosis in someone that young. 

“Wanna tell me about your parents? What was home like for you?”

“You don’t….wanna know about mama and dada. They were _baaaad_ people.”

Jorg stops writing and puts the notepad down on the table before him. Bill leans in and smils yet again. He could feel the poison dripping off of him. His influence was intoxicating. He pulls anyone around him into his darkness, into his madness. He looks away from the boy and sighs. He glances at the clock and gets up.

“Unfortunately we are out of time. Are you being picked up?”

“No, I was told to walk home from here.”

Jorg watches as the boy gets up and walks out of the door. He crosses out of the room but stops at the door.

“Do you think you can fix me? Do you think you can make the madness go away?” Bill asks.

“Not if you don’t take your medication,” Jorg sighs.

The teen only walks out of the house. Not without catching Tom’s glance from the balcony. He smiles at him and disappears down the street. Leaving a path of chills behind him.


	3. Get Out

My father usually was very vocal about his patients. Not telling us exact details of course but he uses cases as hypothetical situations for us to hear. Tonight is different. He didn’t talk about this new patient. He didn’t say anything. He just ate in silence. What happened in that room? He pulls my mother out of the kitchen and I know it’s to discuss something that we, as in the kids, shouldn’t hear. I look over at my sister and she shrugs her shoulders.

“You think dad got a real crazy person as a patient,” I ask her.

“Did you see the new one?” She asks.

“Yeah, he looks like one of those emo kids,” I admit.

“Maybe he just is dealing with self harm issues and bullying. Probably tried to kill himself or something?”

I shrug and return to my pasta. I want to know more about this kid. Dad has been here for two weeks and his first patient is someone who not only looks my age but also looks like he’s seen only the dark parts of this world. I finish my food and go up to my room. I open my laptop and there’s a friend request. I click the icon and I am shocked. It’s the emo kid. Only his name is just “Bill the Killer.” Why is that his name? I click ‘accept’ only because I want to see his page. It’s full of clowns, killer ones, gorey videos he’s shared and videos of him cutting himself while screaming, “Do you wanna play?” I keep scrolling through his page and see the photos get more and more vile. I close my laptop and toss it onto my bed. That kid is fucking twisted. I go to sleep shortly after that and wake up to the smells of mom’s pancakes. My shower is pretty short and I am down at the table with my family.

“So what time is your session today?” I ask.

“2:45,” my dad deadpans.

Perfect. I get out at 1. I just have to sneak home and hide somewhere by the door. I want to hear him speak or something. I rush out the door and ride to school. Once there, I see the same jerks. I walk right pass them and into the building. I zone out the day and as I am leaving, those punks pull my board from under my feet, causing me to crash. I get up and toss my bag to the side. The largest one tackles me to the ground and we are soon fighting. I grab his arms and flip him onto the concrete. I punch him a couple times before getting up and grabbing me board. The other just look at me as I run down the block and straight home. I run up to my room and look at my face in the mirror. I have a little cut on my eyebrow and some scrapes on my hands and knuckles but nothing too serious. I lay back on my bed and sigh. Why is this so fucking hard? Why can’t I just have a normal day where I just go to school and come home?! Even back in Grounder I had the same fucking problems. I hate this. I roll onto my side and look at my arms. My dad the great therapist and his own kid has bullying and self harm issues. I won’t tell him though. I think it’d be a blow to his profession. How do you get paid to fix people but can’t fix your own children? Nonsense. The door to my room remains cracked and I don’t care as I blast music from my room. You can hear it all the way downstairs. I only pop up when the door creaks open. 

“Oh hello, I’m sorry. I was using the bathroom when I heard your music,” the emo kid says as he enters my room.

“It’s fine. Are you one of my dad’s patients?”

“You know the answer to that question already, Tom, right?”

I nod and sit up fully. He is still in all black but there’s white mixed in because his shirt is flannel and black and white. He tugs on the sleeves, trying to keep them down I am pretty sure. I look down at my own arms and notice that my fresh cuts are still bleeding. 

“What made you do that?” He asks.

“Bullshit. School and just everything is hard.”

He nods and slowly slips more into the room. He looks around and his hair whips around his face. I notice it’s loose this time around. It’s hanging on his shoulders and he looks even paler in person. I also notice his eyes have a thick ring of eyeliner around them.

“My name is Bill by the way. Well, William but everyone I talk to calls me Bill.”

“Oh so you have friends?”

He nods and points to his head. Voices. Of course, this is one of my dad’s patients. He backs up out of the room and then walks down the hall. Probably going back to the office. I don’t understand him but he seems to be disturbed. His facebook profile certainly isn’t one that shows clarity in the mind. I flop over onto my side and let myself get drowned in my music and try to ignore the shit that has been hitting me since I began puberty.

****

“So, I uh, I went to the mall today….with the family….that I stay with.”  
“How’d that go for you?” Jorg asks.

“I….got kicked out in forty minutes,” Bill laughs.

“Why?”

Bill pulls his feet up and starts to pick at the loose threads on his pants. He picks and picks. Dropping the threads onto the floor. Jorg says nothing because this boy has erratic emotions and escalates very quickly. 

“I had an….episode in the food court. I didn’t want ketchup on my hotdog. I hate ketchup, but that stupid bitch at the counter puts it on anyway. So I picked up the napkin dispenser and I hit her hand with it, again and again and again until she bled all over that counter,” Bill admits. “They had to carry me out, screaming.”

Jorg rubs his eyebrows and looks at the boy. He is still tugging at his sleeves and rocking.

“Bill, you have to take your medication, it’s the only way any of this treatment even works.”

The teen stands up and walks around the room. He covers his head briefly and then looks back at the doctor.

“All you people tell me to take drugs and not one of you actually wanna know how they make me feel.”

“Okay, tell me about them. What do they do to you?”

Bill starts to hit his head with a sleeve clad hand, not hard enough to raise alarm but enough to get a point across.

“I feel like I’ve gone ‘tilt’. Everything is just calm and normal. The silence builds and that’s worse than being crazy, I think. I’d rather close my eyes and see blood than close my eyes and see nothing.”

Jorg writes that out and then crosses out his followup question. He wants to learn more about why the teen won’t take his pills.

“So you fear silence?”

“I like talking to my voices and my personalities. It’s fun to hear what they think.”

“What are they saying right now?”

Bill looks up like he’s thinking and then crosses the room to sit back down on the couch. He wipes his hair from his face and then laughs.

“You don’t wanna know what they’re saying. They are saying a lot more than I am at liberty to say.”

Jorg writes that down and then looks at his watch.

“That’s all for today, I’ll see you on Friday, right?”

Bill nods and gets up. He looks at the doctor and bites his lower lip a little.

“Doc, what do you think is wrong with me?”

“You fear rejection. I think you lash out when you feel contradicted or like people are omitting you from the equation and passing judgement for you.”

Bill nods like he understands when he clearly doesn’t. Jorg doesn’t follow him out this time. He sits in the office and thinks long and hard about these sessions. The kid is truly demented and he didn’t know if it was good to his mental psyche to be seeing him further. He didn’t see Bill turn up the stairs to Tom’s room instead of going outside. The sessions had been going on for at least two weeks and he had often snuck over here when he wasn’t in session to hang with Tom. Simone had never met Bill before so she’d let him in, not knowing that he was one of Jorg’s patients. He usually kept his work separate from his family. 

“Okay, tell me about this scar,” Tom asks.

“A girl….at school, she uh, she called me a weirdo. I slammed her into a locker, she was unconscious and….then I sat right there and sliced my wrist. I wiped some of her blood into the wound.”

Tom shudders a little but he’s intrigued. He really wants to know more about this kid. What lead him to being like this? Was he always this crazy? Or was it all an elaborate attention ruse? Tom, however, couldn’t lie, he enjoyed conversations with Bill. He liked to hear his crazy. Jorg goes into the kitchen to get a drink when he sees his wife busying herself with cleaning the kitchen.

“Hey, babe, where’s Tom?”

“His room. Probably talking with his little friend from school.”

“So he did make a friend? That’s good.”

“What’s his name?” Jorg asks while bringing a glass of juice up to his lips. 

Simone stops washing a plate and looks at her husband. She thinks for a moment and then gets her ‘aha’ moment.

“William. Though he prefers to be called Bill.”

The doctor put the glass down and marches up the stairs. He opens Tom’s door and is horrified to see him with his son.

“What are you doing here?! You shouldn’t be in this room,” Jorg scolds.

“I’m sorry. I was only talking to your son. He is really nice.”

“You get out of my house, right now.” Jorg seethes.

Bill gets up and gets into Jorg’s face. 

“Wasn’t it you who said I fear rejections?”

“I don’t care, you get out of my house right now!”

He flies down the stairs not without screaming, he’s gonna kill him over fifty times as he did it. The door slams and Jorg looks back his son.

“Why did you have him in this room?”

“Dad he’s the only person who wants to talk to me in this stupid fucking town!”

“I don’t care! You keep that _sick_ child out of this room! I don’t want him around you or your mother or your sister. He is my patient and he is not well. Stay away from him,” Jorg scolds.

Tom only scoffs as his dad walks out of the room. Man, fuck him, Tom thinks to himself. He goes into the bathroom and pulls the sharp razor across his skin. It felt so good to release himself. He sits on his bed, thinking about what to do with the rest of his day since Bill wasn’t there to entertain him. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he extracts it. Bill sent him a text. It was a knife and then the blood emojis. Tom doesn’t respond and it’s followed with another text.

_‘Want me to take care of him?’_

_‘No, my dad is just a tool. Don’t waste your time on him’_

Tom is shocked at himself that he isn’t more disturbed about this whole situation. Bill doesn’t reply after that. He feels bad because he thinks that Bill isn’t as messed up as he lets on. He probably just has no one to talk to. He feels alone. Tom didn’t mind talking to him. He liked their conversations. The insanity is intriguing. 

_‘Wanna meet at the skatepark? No one is here and we can be alone to talk.’_

Tom thought long and hard about that text. He knows that he could pull it off. He does skate after all. He grips his phone in his hand and finally types out a ‘yes’ response. Bill sends an address after that and soon the teen is skateboarding down the street to the location Bill sent him. He finds the demented teen sitting on the side of the street, just rocking. As usual. Tom approaches and Bill hugs him awkwardly.

“I am so glad you came. Have a seat and let’s talk,” Bill smiles.

Tom looks at Bill as he looks around the area they’re in as if he never been there before. He rubs his calloused hands on the street and doesn’t stop until he’s bleeding on his palms. That explains the rough hands.

“What happened to your eyebrow?” Bill asks.

“Fight. Some idiots at school just messing with me.”

Bill looks at Tom, this expression new to Tom. It is dramatically different from his normally crazed look. He looks from the corner of his gaze and then slowly turns to Tom.

“Someone is messing with you? You get even. Make them not want to mess with you anymore. I can help you, what’s the person’s name?”

“You don’t have to,” Tom says.

“Oh I want to. I like….scaring people.”

Tom looks skeptically at Bill and then shrugs.

“Okay, Tyler Loman. He’s some weird kid that just likes busting my balls,” Tom says as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket.

Bill nods and then returns to his rocking. Tom doesn’t say anything about the boy’s weird behavior. He just knows that whatever is going on in his head isn’t normal for most people.

****

Tyler walks alone, one night. He chews a piece of gum and flips a coin. Not thinking about the environment around him. He hears someone following him but he doesn’t turn around. That’s usually when they confront you. When you turn around. He just keeps walking. He finally just turns the corner and then turns around. There’s no one there. The teen scoffs and then turns around to continue his walk home when he comes face to face with a boy in a Purge mask. He doesn’t say anything but he moves his head. Tyler drops his coin, swallows his gum and pisses his pants once he sees the large knife that the boy is holding. 

“Look, I don’t have any money, please don’t kill me,” he whimpers.

“You hurt a dear, dear friend of mine. I don’t quite like you either.”

Tyler turns on his heels to run but the boy trips him and he falls onto the ground. He turns onto his back, screaming, hoping that anyone will hear him. No one does. Everyone’s either asleep or out for the night. The boy raises the blade and brings it back down, stopping a mere inches from his abdomen. Tyler looks down at the knife and sobs.

“Wha?” he sniffles.

“Stay away from the new kid or next time, I won’t hesitate to kill you,” he giggles.

“You aren’t going to kill me?”

“Oh no, I am just gonna hurt you, really, really badly,” he laughs.

He slashes his face, legs and stomach and then runs off, leaving the boy bleeding on the ground. Someone eventually finds him and calls 9-1-1 but doesn’t do anything else. The cops arrive and all Tyler can say is Purge mask. That’s all he remembers from the attack. He’s too much in shock to say anymore. Bill sits at home, wiping down the blade in the kitchen when he hears the front door open. He drops the knife and quickly goes up to his room.

“Well, would you look at that? I swear, people have no decency. You just use the knife and don’t wash it. Stupid fucking kids.” The foster father groans to no one.

Bill sits in his room, drawing demented images in a notepad, trying to stay separate from the world. He can hear the tv be clicked on and the volume is loud enough that the news echos up the stairs and right into his room.

“We are here live, where a teenage boy was attacked right here in our own neighborhood of Crystal Lake. Tyler Loman, age 14, describes his attacker as a boy wearing a purge halloween mask. Cops are currently investigating the scene and are going to try and find this mystery, dangerous assailant. They have asked that we tell the public not to engage the suspect if you locate him. He is considered to be very dangerous.”

Bill giggles in his room and continuous to just harshly color the page in red crayon before it snaps in his hand. Bill picks the broken wax up and looks at it. Why did it break? He holds the two halves together and tries to make it whole again but it won’t stay together. He’s never broken a crayon before. Usually pencils but not his crayons. He loved those a bit too much. The door opens to his room and the darkness is invaded by the hallway light.

“William, we need to talk,” his foster father says.

“For the last time, my name isn’t William.”

“I am not calling you, Bill. That is a stupid name and you know it.”

The teen drops the crayon and turns to face the older male.

“What did you just call me?”

Once the older man realized what he said and who he said it to, he gulps. He smiles half heartedly and then chuckles.

“I meant, Bill is a great name. I’ll start calling you that. I like it for you.”

Bill turns back to his drawings and picks up one broken piece of crayon. He starts scrubbing it across the page, filling it with more and more red. 

“How did you session go?”

“Fine.”

“Do you know anybody named Tyler Loman?’

Instead of a response, he just gets the beginning of grim, sadistic laughter. Laughter that echoes through the house. Laughter that makes the man leave the teen alone in his room. Laughter that filled his bones and exposed him to Bill’s darkness. The poison that filled that boy’s veins is vile. He locks the door, lucky too because the boy starts to slam himself up against the walls of his simple room. No wardrobe, just a dresser, a bed and that was it. The family didn’t entirely trust him with anything more. He has a video camera, a cellphone and a laptop but that’s so he doesn’t get bored and just shoot up the place. They don’t know about the vulgarity on his profile. They don’t know about how he cuts himself on camera and posts the videos. They don’t know about all the killed animals for his videos and pictures. They just let him live there, in that confined space so traveling to his sessions is manageable. Bill kind of likes being around Crystal Lake, it was his home before….things started happening when he got involved. He missed his home. He also is happy because he’s made a new friend.

He looks at his arms and giggles. The demented boy picks up his razor and places the blade to his flesh. Soon Tom’s name is etched into his arm.

“Tommy, I love you, my Tommy. And no one is gonna take me away from you, Tommy.”


	4. What Did You Do?

Jorg sits in front of his patient. The young boy has been hiding his face behind his knees and doing the same rocking he had been doing since he first walked into that office. The doctor couldn’t make him talk but he had to be honest with Bill and tell him what he had done earlier that day. He couldn’t lie about a phone call that he knows the teen knows about. Those people had to confront him about it.

“How are you?”

“Don’t….pretend to care about me,” Bill mutters.

“What do you mean?”

“That man told me you didn’t want to treat me anymore,” Bill sighs.

“Well, I can’t have you around my children, it’s not….professional.”

The teen looks up at Jorg. He’s not saying a word only rocking back and forth while glaring at the older male. He finally looks back down and giggles.

“I don’t see the big deal. I wouldn’t….hurt Tommy,”

“Don’t call my son that.”

“Why not? Tommy’s really sweet. I wish I went to school with him, maybe I’d still be able to go.”

“Bill, your psychosis is what keeps you out of school,” Jorg snaps.

The teen chuckles and stops rocking. His feet come to the ground and he stands up. Jorg watches as the teen walks around the room, aimlessly. Jorg didn’t trust his mood swings. He always keeps a small can of pepper spray in the table next to him. He’s had patients attack him before. Bill goes back over to the bookshelves and runs a manicured fingernail over the spines. His hair was in a half up half down fashion and he wore clothing that almost blankets his milky white skin in black. He turns to look back at the doctor and smiles widely.

“I got some news for you, doc. My ‘ _psychosis’_ keeps me out of a lotta places.”

“Which is why I keep reminding you to take your medication,” Jorg groans.

“How about you shove those disgusting pills down your throat and then tell me to take them?!” Bill snaps while tossing a book at the doctor. 

It bounces off his shoulder and hits the floor. Jorg looks back at Bill and he’s steaming. His shoulders rise and fall as he breathes hard, extra voluntarily and loudly. The teen nearly grunts. He looks down and sighs, which soon transitions to laughter. The teen picks up his head and looks at him.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to hurt you, this time.”

“What?” The doctor asks, hoping Bill will repeat himself and he could use this as hiss escape from the crazy child.

“Huh?”

He sighs and writes down the small episode of violence into his notepad. Bill returns to his seat and plays with the extra pen from the table in his hands. Clicking it occasionally and poking his hand with it. 

“Have you been having anymore instances of violence like the one you just had?”

“How is your son, doc? Anymore bully problems?”

“My son is not a topic of discussion.”

“I suppose I can just ask him myself,” Bill shrugs.

“As I said, stay away from my family.”

Bill clicks the pen a few more times before placing it between his teeth. He smiles at Jorg and then takes it out of his mouth. Jorg fascinated Bill. Here’s a guy who knows that he’s putting his family at risk of being harmed by one of his patients yet he still opens a at home practice. 

“Why do you do it, doc?’

“Do what?”

“Bring all us crazies around your family. I mean, imagine, I could literally walk up in here one day with an….assault rifle and slaughter the lot of you, yet you trust _me_ and a whole other mess of crazy into your home,”

“Are you saying you’d kill my family?!”

“Oh of course not. I mean, I like this house. It’s such a nice house. I wouldn’t want to stop having to come here. You dying would inconvenience me, so….don’t die, okay?”

Jorg looks at the teen as he runs the pen over his white flesh. Jorg doesn’t say anymore and then looks down at his notepad. He comes across his notes on Bill’s concern with Tom’s bully problems. He didn’t even know that Tom was still having issues with that kid, well beyond the first day. 

“How’d you know about my son’s bully?”

“Oh he told me. I asked him about his eyebrow.”

Jorg nods and writes that down.

“Why are you concerned with whether or not he is still being bullied?”

“He seems like a good….kid, I wouldn’t want him to be getting hurt because kids just don’t understand….people like us,” Bill states.

“My son isn’t like you,” Jorg scoffs.

“That’s what you think,” Bill sing-songs.

Jorg puts his notepad down and looks at the boy. He has his fingernail in between his teeth and he’s grinning. What could this fucking kid know? There is nothing wrong with his son. Tom is a normal teenager. He thinks about his son a little more and tries to see if he’s been showing sociopathic tendencies and he can’t recall any moments. He’s always been like him. Just a smart ass who often acts childish toward his younger sister. He’s a typical teenager. 

“How have your….voices been, Bill?” Jorg asks trying to take this conversation away from his family.

“They are friendly now. They aren’t yelling at me to, you know,” Bill shrugs.

“What?”

“KILL EVERYONE!” Bill shouts, scaring the doctor a little.

“So, uh, do they normally tell you to ‘kill everyone’?”

“Yeah, it can be hard, you know. I don’t wanna kill everyone. Or do I?”

Jorg rubs his eyebrows and looks at the boy.

“You know what I’m gonna say,” Jorg sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘ _take my meds_ ’. The thing is, I don’t fucking want to. I told all your doctors, I’d rather be fucking crazy than be alone and soon….Tommy is going to say the same thing to you, doc,” Bill smiles.

******

Jorg watches his son at dinner later that night. He’s very expressive while talking to his mother about something he painted in school that day. He didn’t look bothered by anything at all. Tom catches his father’s worried gaze and stops eating.

“Dad? Is something wrong?” Tom asks.

“Huh? Oh no, sorry. I was uh, thinking about something. I’m sorry. I think I might’ve, uh, zoned out while looking at you,” Jorg chuckles nervously.

“Oh, okay,” Tom smiles.

He turns back to his conversation, not thinking anything weird of his father’s behavior. Tom swipes a dreadlock back when his father notices something on his wrist.

“Tom, can I see your arm?” Jorg asks suddenly.

“What?” 

“Thomas, let me see your arm, now.”

The teen puts his fork down and looks at his plate of spaghetti on the table. His eyes well up as he slowly rolls up his sleeves and places his arms on the table for all to see. His mother gasps when she sees the ugly scars that mark his white skin. Tom is silently crying, feeling ashamed, embarrassed and above all judged. B 

“Thomas? What is this?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, dad.”

“Thomas, my office, right now.”

“No dad! I am not about to become one of your patients!” Tom shouts as he hops up from his chair.

“Tom, it wouldn’t be like that,” Jorg sighs.

“Yes it would be! You’d make me sit on that fucking couch and you’d treat me like one of your patients. I don’t need you in my life like that, shit!”

Tom marches out of the kitchen, not wanting to ever be exposed like that in front of his family again. He sobs loudly once alone in his room. Jorg stands outside his door for a moment, wanting to talk or apologize--whatever Tom wanted--for his behavior. He couldn’t though. Tom needed space so decides to talk to him later. He leaves the space not knowing what occurred on the other side of that door.

“Why are you crying?”

Tom nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees Bill is suddenly in his room. The teen climbed into his room from the balcony space, making the blonde remember to lock the door next time. He didn’t like how easily someone could walk into his room from the balcony.

“My parents, fuck, my whole family knows about my scars now! I don’t know what to do.”

“So what if they see your scars. Now, they know that something’s wrong. It’s good when they know. You can find someone to talk to. Soon, you’re going to realize that being a little screwy is the best way to be.” 

Tom blinks a few times and then sighs. Bill knows more about this stuff than he does. He’s clearly been through a lot.

“So, what do I do?”

“Well, whatever you want of course. I don’t take my medication because I like hearin’ voices. It makes me feel not so alone. You might have a different vice. Embrace it.”

Tom looks at Bill and invites him over to sit next to him. He doesn’t care that his dad doesn’t want him about the dark child. He likes him. He’s honestly very sweet, just psychotic. That’s okay, right? Tom seems to think so. Bill sits cross legged on his bed and rocks his body back and forth. Something he’s done since early childhood to maintain his mental stability. The gently motion reminds him of when he was a baby and his mother used to rock his cradle. He was at ease back then. He didn’t remember being a baby but he remembers the calm time.

The thoughts didn’t come until he was 5 and he did something to act on them. He remembered the first time he got the thoughts and it was when he saw his parents high off of heroin in the living room. They rushed at him and he was thrust into darkness. A darkness he has never been able to escape. A darkness that landed him right into Tom’s room. A darkness that was really, _really_ intoxicating. A darkness that Tom himself, is starting to enjoy.


	5. My Parents Are Fucking Awful

At 5 years old, William Trumper is interested in filmmaking. Always arranging his toys into various scenes and pretending to be a director. He has a movie slate from a early Christmas gift from his aunt and he always ran around the house slating everything. Before meals, he’d call action. His parents didn’t say anything to the young boy. One day after Pre-School, he sets up in his room as usual and starts to make a ‘movie’ about a happy family. He lines up his little bears, action figures and dolls to set the stage. His big eyes catch sight of his guinea pig. He jumps up and grabs the animal from it’s cage. He brings it down to the stage and places him on the carpeted floor between his barbie and GI Joe, dubbing him the pet dog. Through his eyes, all the toys move and play their part. They speak to an imaginary script and they block with imaginary staging. To anyone else, he’s a child staring intently at his toys but to him he is filming the scene that’s going to win him the Academy Award. He continues his happy play until he hears something downstairs. 

“Mommy?” he calls.

He stands on chubby, little legs, blonde hair whips around his face and shoulders. He slowly leaves his room, guinea pig in his left hand. His right hand scales the wall as he walks to the stairs. 

“Daddy?” Still no response.

With a sigh, he walks down the stairs and slips into the living room, where he hears the the tv. He turns the corner and sees his parents slumped on the couch. The tv is on some reality show. He slips over to his parents and touches his mother’s hand. She doesn’t move. She just moans and flops over onto her husband. Bill screws up his face into a confused look and then walks over to his father. He does the same and the man only bats him away. The toddler didn’t understand why his happy parents were acting this way. Then again, he never really understood his parents. They yelled at each other constantly and often shoved him a little too hard, leaving bruises. CPS had gotten involved once but eventually left when they couldn’t find any convincing evidence that something was wrong. 

His brown eyes see the needles and powdered drugs on the table. He didn’t know what drug it is but he knows it’s bad. The toddler flies up the stairs and into the room. He slams his door and looks at all his little toys on the floor. He resets the stage and this time, it is a courtroom. He remembers the scenes on his aunt’s favorite cop shows and how the courtroom is set up. A GI Joe represents his father and a Barbie for his mother. He puts the guinea pig at the prosecutor’s table and slams the slate. He sees them move and act out a real courtroom. His parents are on trial for being bad parents. The guinea pig prosecutor tries to prove that they are bad people but his parents are too smart. They win, even in his imagination. 

Angrily, he picks up the small animal in his two hands and squeezes him. The tiny pet starts to squirm and squeal, trying to get free but to no avail. The more he struggles the tighter the toddler’s grip gets. He squeezes and squeezes until his pet stops twitching, moving, breathing. His hands adjust until he’s gripping the baby’s body and then it’s neck and he rips it’s fluffy head right off.

“Stupid guinea pig! You lost to my stupid parents!”

He tosses the body parts onto the carpet, the animal’s blood seeping into it. His eyes become transfixed on the red color. He likes it. He wants to see more of it. He gets down onto his knees and touches the blood. It feels so squishy between his fingertips, coating his prints in a fine layer of red. He wants to put his hands in more. He wants to feel it inside of a bucket, maybe play in it. He tries to squeeze it out of the guinea pig but it wasn’t enough. He gets up and thinks of his parents. The toddler goes down into the kitchen, trying to remember where mommy put her sharp food cutters. He didn’t know what they were called because he never asked nor cared to learn. He opens a drawer and finds one. He doesn’t know how it works, so he grabs a watermelon from the cabinet, pulling it to the floor from the bottom shelf. The five year old starts stabbing the watermelon, juice and fruit flying all over the kitchen and on his clothes. He stands up and looks down at his work. The mutilated melon was barely a shadow of its former self. Satisfied, the five year old goes into the living room. 

His eyes catch onto his parents who sat in the same spot. This angered him even more. He walks over to them, knife gripped in his right hand. He wanted to play in their blood. He raises the knife when he’s in front of his mother and stabs her right in the chest. She gasps and catches her tiny son’s eyes before her life slips from her. He, unbeknownst to him, stabbed her right in the heart. William stabs her several more times. His father isn’t aware that his wife is being murdered by their child right next to him. His fate wasn’t clear until he feels that same blade pierces his chest. He looks down and sees his son covered in blood, smiling.

“You were very bad, daddy. I have to punish you. You gave me an ouchie, I’ll give you an ouchie.”

The man tries to scream but he’s stopped by the blade reentering his body. Once they’re both dead, the toddler starts to stab them to extract their blood. He feels so invigorated, never feeling this much bliss before. He sits on the floor, several days later, parents’ decomposing bodies still on the couch. The house reeks of dead and the boy hadn’t been to school since the double murders. A CPS agent arrives at the house, worried about the boy because he’s missed so much school with no contact from his family. She knocks on the door, smelling the horrible fumes from outside the door. William opens it and she is shocked to see the tiny child.

“Hello, sweetheart, my name’s Amanda. Are your mommy and daddy home?”

The child only stares at her. She smiles but immediately scrunches up her face when she smells the horrible scent of death that wafts out of the door. She covers her mouth with a handkerchief and coughs.

“What’s that smell, sweetie?”

“Mommy and daddy,” the child says while smiling. 

She goes to step inside and the toddler turns and runs into the house. She enters and the smell intensifies. She hears laughter coming from the living room and follows until she sees the young child putting different costume pieces onto what appears to her to be two dead bodies. She drops everything in hands and gasps in horror. She rushes over and yoinks Bill away from his dead parents and panickingly searches the pile of her things for her phone. She dials 9-1-1 and the police arrive almost immediately. Bill happily eats a popsicle while sitting in the police station, waiting for a cop.

“You think he saw the killer?” the cop asks his partner.

“Probably, we should keep his face out of the papers until we find the sick son of bitch who did this.”

“Don’t forget, Rodney, we found drugs in the house too. Could just be a drug deal gone bad and the kid was unfortunately at home when it occurred,” he sighs in response to his partner.

Both men walk into the room where the child is still slurping on his popsicle. They each take a seat facing him and Bill stops to look up at them.

“Hey, kiddo, is your ice cream good?”

“It’s not ice cream, it’s a cherry popsicle,” he frowns.

“Right, well my name is Officer Gabriel Wise and this is my partner, Officer Rodney Miller. We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright?”

The child nods happily and goes back to eating his treat.

“Where were mommy and daddy when they got hurt?” Rodney asks.

“They were watching the people on tv,” Bill smiles.

“Okay, and did you hear anything? Screaming, someone in the house?”

Bill stops eating to shake his head and then he takes a big bite of the frozen juice, shivering because it’s cold.

“Slow down, champ, don’t want brain freeze,” Gabriel chuckles.

The toddler ignores him and takes another bite. He feels the cold numbness but doesn’t care. He likes the way it melts on his tongue and the rush of sugar that fills his body. The two cops look at each other and then down at their pads for notes to ask more questions.

“Did you see what happened?”

The toddler drops his treat on the table and the atmosphere in the room, drastically changes. Rodney looks at his partner once again and something doesn’t feel right. Not about this case or that kid.

“Mommy and daddy….they weren’t very nice. They yelled a lot. They used to hit and push me too. But mommy and daddy did something really bad, something they weren’t supposed to do. Whenever I do something bad, daddy punishes me for it. So I thought, since mommy and daddy did something bad, I should punish them for it too,” Bill explains simply.

“What do you mean by ‘punish’? Gabriel asks, hoping that the child won’t confess to what he thinks he’s about to.

Bill sits up straight and a smile stretches across his lips. The frozen treat tinted his teeth in red, giving it the appearance of being glistened in blood. It wasn’t until now that the two cops realized that this boy had subtle traces of blood on his clothes and limbs. He opens his hands and then closes, mimicking holding a knife.

“I took mommy’s sharp thingy and I tried it on a watermelon first. Then I punished mommy and daddy,” he smiles.

The cops both stop writing and look at the little boy. He didn’t seem to regret it, nor did he seem frazzled by it. He’s a kid, he shouldn’t be capable of cold blooded murder. The cops figured the parents were too high on heroin to fight the young child off during his attack.

“Why didn’t you call the police if mommy or daddy hurt you or themselves?” Rodney asks.

The child looks up and then smiles. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small little bottle. At first the cops thought it was a child’s toy until they saw the crimson liquid inside.

“Because then I wouldn’t have this. I don’t know what this red milk is called but I like playing in it. It’s squishy. If I called the police, I wouldn’t be able to play in their red milk.”

Gabriel leans in and takes the bottle from him. He puts it to the side, careful to use a tissue as not to get his fingerprints onto it. 

“Give that back,” Bill demands.

“I can’t. You shouldn’t be playing with blood!” he exclaims.

The toddler gets upset and starts to slam his fists into the table. Rodney tries to stop him but the child stops on his own, once he sees the red milk start to come from his very own body. He stares at his bleeding hands in wonder. He had seen it before but never noticed it until now. He squishes his little hands together and tries with all his might to draw more. The cop puts a hand on his shoulder and Bill looks up. Once they match eyes, he starts screaming, expelling himself to the floor. He scrambles to his feet and runs right for the unlocked door in the office room. The toddler runs out to the squad room, still screaming. The other cops are shocked to see him running around. Eventually the chief of the squad catches and picks him up, still screaming.

“Alright, kid.”

Bill is kicking his arms and flailing his arms. The chief carries him into his office and puts him down, not without closing and locking the door of course. The child just screams his head off while running laps in the room. The chief pays him no mind. That slowly starts to anger the five year old and he turns to the man, silent.

“Are you done?”

“Why’d you lock me in here?”

“Because I can’t have some snot nosed kid from privilege ruin my squad room,” the seasoned chief sighs.

Bill walks over to him. He speaks to him like his father used to. Now that he knows how to hurt someone the way he’s been hurt, he doesn’t want people to talk to him like that. He doesn’t know if this cop keeps shiny things in his big office and he can’t ask. The chief already knew that this child confessed to murder. He heard it over the intercom during the questioning. He also took psychology as his major in college. He looked at the tiny child as he looks around the room in awe. 

“Why do you have your own room but the others must share outside?”

“There’s too many of them to give them each their own office.”

“This place is _real_ big, you can give them their own rooms. You’re just greedy. Mommy said that’s bad.”

“Look, kid, I am not here so you can nail into me about common decency and fairness, okay you little shit. Why’d you kill your parents?”

“I told you, they were bad and daddy says when someone does something bad they have to face the constants!”

“You mean consequences, well there’s consequences for your actions too. You could go to jail for what you did,” the chief sighs.

This kid isn’t old enough to think out a murder. He is only 5. The old man gets up and walks over to where Bill is standing. He makes sure to leave his gun on his desk. There’s no child lock on it because he doesn’t have kids and his house was invaded 3 times. Each time, he was thwarted by the stupid safety. He puts his hands on the boy’s shoulders and Bill shrugs him off. He starts his running again and the chief does nothing but watch him. He isn’t going to give him attention. He knows that this boy feeds off of it. Such early sociopathic behavior. He turns around to unlock the door and tell a cop to come collect the child when he hears a loud pop and feels warmth on his back. He turns around and Bill is standing on his desk, gun pointed at him.

“Look officer, you have the red milk too,” Bill chuckles.

The door is forced open and multiple cops walk in, guns drawn. They see their captain on the ground, dead as a doorstop and Bill sitting on the desk with the gun pointed at the door.

“Kid, what are you doing?”

“I want to play in the red milk! Why won’t you grown ups let me?!”

After multiple psychiatric visits, Bill came to the conclusion that he’s crazy. He likes it though. He likes people being afraid of him. He likes when people see him and run for the hills. Starting high school, he noticed things change. People were different. He didn’t like that all the people around him, ignored him. They didn’t scurry away or tried to hide or whisper about him. He just existed and that made the voices scream louder and louder. He didn’t want them to exist in his world anymore. He only attacked that poor girl because she messed with him. Now he’s forbidden from being in school. Forbidden because he just isn’t safe to be around kids when you tell your guidance counselor that you like watching people bleed. Forbidden when several students bring video proof that you, yourself hurt small animals and yourself. Forbidden when the voices in your head tell you that everyone is your enemy and everyone needs to pay


	6. Lessons Learned

“Doc, what’s it like to be you?”

“I don’t think that’s an appropriate question and this session is about you, the patient, Bill.’

The teen is wearing his signature all black but this time his hair is pulled from his face, exposing his jawline, almond shaped eyes and narrow cheeks. He looks exotic. The doctor notices that he isn’t rocking like he used to and he’s even wearing short sleeves, exposing all his scars. 

“I’m a patient, why do they call us that? I don’t consider myself to be very patient,” Bill chuckles.

“I am your doctor and you are my patient. Your sponsor father has told me that you had another episode this week at home, you lashed out on your younger housemate.”

“I didn’t _lash out_ , doc! I am not some fucking kid, alright! She….. shouldn’t have been in my room. I---I----I have told all of them, all of them sons of bitches, to _**stay**_ the _**fuck**_ out of my room and yet she goes right on in, like it’s a-ok.”

“So instead of just kicking her out and telling someone, you pick a six year old girl up by her ankles and hang her out of the window until she cried, peed herself and vomited.”

“I told her to stay out,” Bill retorts.

The seasoned doctor puts the notepad and pen down and rubs his eyebrows.

“Bill, I don’t know how I can help you when you won’t take your meds! These thoughts will continue until you stop avoiding the medication and take what you’re supposed to.”

“I don’t want those pills, doc! Do you wanna know what I want though?”

“What? What could you possibly want?”

“I want….Tommy,” he smiles.

Jorg looks at the boy through slit eyes and notices he’s serious. Against all better judgment, the doctor gets up and punches Bill straight in the face, sending the teen flying to the floor from the chair. He stands back, regretting it, worried that Bill would do something to him. Instead, the teen just stared at the blood on his fingers. 

“Oh look, it’s the pretty, red milk. It’s my pretty, red milk.”

“You, stay the fuck away from my son! You hear me! If you touch him or come anywhere near him, I will do a whole lot more than punch you in the face!”

The teen only starts laughing from his position on the floor. He arches his back and pulls his legs beneath him to stand up. He isn’t afraid of Jorg. He isn’t afraid of anyone. He gets to his feet, blood still dripping from his nose. 

“Tsk, tsk, doc, what should I do with you? I mean, I could **_skin_** you alive or **_gut_** you like a fish but I won’t do that to you. At least not now,” Bill smiles.

“Get out of my house and never come back. I will tell your sponsor that you will have to go to another psychiatrist.”

Bill’s face gets long but he doesn’t say anything. He just crosses out of the room without saying another word. He gets to the stairwell when Tom sees him and he stops in his tracks. He puts his index finger over his bloody lips and shushes him. The dark teen then smiles and disappears out the door. Tom stomps to his father’s office, infuriated at the fact that Bill had blood on his face.

“What did you do?!” Tom exclaims.

“Tom, look at me, stay away from him. I mean it. Don’t contact him or go to see him.”

“Why did he have blood on his face?!”

“Are you even listening to me, Tom?!’

“I don’t care! Why was he bleeding?”

“I punched him in the face, alright?!”

Tom clenches his fists tight and slams his fist into the wall. The only person that gave him the time of day that wasn’t a asshole and that didn’t assault him that was his age and his dad runs him off. He couldn’t stand it. Every time his dad brought his patients home, he would always start to analyze his kids and then he’d run the teens out of the residence before they even got the chance to meet someone.

“Why would you punch him in the face?! He didn’t do anything wrong, dad! He’s a patient! You should be helping him not punching him in the face!”

“Thomas, don’t tell me how to do my fucking job, alright?! I have been doing this for years, I know how to do my job, okay! That boy is a menace and nothing more. He killed his parents and then a cop. He probably hurt some little kid and I can’t even prove it because that little shit started to make googly eyes for you! I am not about to let that…. _maniac_ get infatuated with my son and then you get pulled into his mess.”

“Dad, I am not some stupid fucking kid! You don’t have to protect me! I can protect myself and make my own fucking choices!”

“That’s enough, Thomas! I am not discussing this any more with you! Go to your room!”

The teen stomps up the stairs and slams his door. He tosses himself onto his bed and tears fall. He didn’t want to be all alone in this place. His sister didn’t get it, she was off doing whatever it is she does when she’s not home. He liked being with Bill. It felt so freeing. He really felt so alive around him. Like for once, he could be a broken teen and it was okay. The door creaks open and Tom groans.

“Dad, I really don’t wanna talk anymore, so just leave me alone.”

“Who said it was your dad?”

Tom pops up and looks at the door, shocked. How did he even get in? He sits up on his bed as the dark haired teen crosses the room and sits on the bed. He didn’t want him to get into trouble for being there but he didn’t want him to leave either.

“Bill, how’d you get into this room?”

“I walked through the front door. Your mother doesn’t pay attention when she goes to tend to her garden. Your dad is drinking in the parlor and your sister, I don’t even know if she’s home.”

“My father doesn’t want you here anymore.”

“Your father doesn’t control me and he shouldn’t control you either.”

Tom looks down and frowns.

“He knows about my cuts now.”

“Really? And how did he react to that?”

“Not good, he wanted me to go into his office to talk. I am not one of his patients!”

“You see! People like him don’t understand people like us! We are different because the world just doesn’t understand that everything is a game. Everything that is reality is not reality. The ‘real world’ isn’t the real world. People don’t know what’s real until there’s blood involved. Your dad lives in the ‘real world’, we live in reality.”

Tom looks at the boy who sits on his bed with wide eyes and a smile on his face. Blood still spilled down his face. He didn’t want it to stop. He loved the taste, the smell, and the feel of his own blood. It often sent him into an orgasm when he got to spill his own blood. Tom wanted to wipe it away but he had never seen the boy so happy to be bleeding. This bleed is different from the others, it came from another person. 

“I’ve never heard of the ‘real world’ before,” Tom admits.

“The ‘real world’ is where all the stupid, ignorant, blind people live. They feed off of those who see this place for what it is. They try to fill our minds with narcotics to silence us when the truth of the matter is, this place fucking sucks,” Bill seethes.

Tom couldn’t believe that he didn’t think about it that way before. The reason he smokes, the reason the world felt grey and the reason why he felt the need to hurt himself. He saw that the world is crummy and he had to remind himself he is even still alive. Bill leans over to reach Tom’s face and his presses his bloody lips onto his. Tom pulls the other teen into his body and they both fall back onto his bed. Bill uses his hands to rip his shirt off, followed by his pants. Tom is half naked on his bed while Bill is still fully clothed. He didn’t want to have sex yet but he wanted to look at Tom’s body. He traces every muscle, wrinkle and curve with his fingers. Tom looks down at him as the boy explores his body. He doesn’t stop him when his hands touch his bulge. Bill doesn’t take off his underwear but he really wants to. There isn’t enough time though. He simply sits back on his knees and looks down at Tom’s pale body.

“We are not in the ‘real world’, Tommy. In our world, time stands still and we see everyone’s true colors. We see their demons.”

“How do I deal with it?”

“First, you have to learn to accept it.”


	7. Dreading the Future

The world seemed to get slightly greyer to Tom now. He actually enjoyed it though. It felt freeing. He walks around the school, not caring about anyone. His hands hold onto his bag straps, board tucked under his arm. The boys that messed with him when he first moved there were all eyeing him, missing one person, the kid that Bill cut up. Tom doesn’t know that though. He reaches his locker, unlocking the metal compartment and then he sees the two oblong shadows of the neanderthals that enjoy torturing him.

“You sent some psycho after Tyler, Kaulitz and now you’re gonna pay for it,” the smaller one threatened. Tom didn’t really even care that these boys were approaching him. In fact, he is more worried about the test he has to take in English. He doesn’t say anything to them as he switches his books and puts them in his bag.

“Hey, Kaulitz, we’re talking to you,” the same little one groans. Still no response. Tom didn’t have time for them. He is thinking about all the things he’s been talking to Bill about. His own delusions, darkness and vices. The teen had been pulled into Bill’s madness but still denied those feelings their right to be acted upon. He only caged them in his mind and pondered about them. He turns back to the boys and they both look equally angry, with fists clenched tight at their sides and angry expressions on their faces. With a sigh, Tom wipes his face and pulls his bag onto his shoulders.

“Look, I had nothing to do with his attack. I didn’t even know he was attacked until yesterday,” Tom admits. He honestly didn’t know until Bill told him what he did. He said he only meant to scare him. Well he scared him alright, Tyler has been trapped in his room and bed since he was discharged from the hospital and all he’s been able to murmur is “....Purge mask…” Tom didn’t feel bad for him. That just means more money for his dad because he knows Loman is gonna need counseling after the ordeal. Tom’s arm outstretched and he pushes them aside so he can pass, only to be shoved back into his locker. 

“Oh no, you ain’t going anywhere, Kaulitz!” The larger of the two boys seethes. He grabs Tom’s arm and swings him around until he’s pinned against the locker with his arm twisted behind his back. The other students see the commotion and gather ‘round chanting “Fight! Fight!” as the two boys mercilessly attack the younger teen. Tom doesn’t move or squirm. He doesn’t care. He’s learned to just enjoy his pain. It meant he is still alive. With his face smushed into a locker, he inhales a little more voluntarily in hopes to not pass out from lack of oxygen. A hole is forced through the students and the principal emerges, angered by the display of violence on his campus.

“Alright, that’s enough Lyle, get your hands off of Thomas at once,” he orders. The teens disperse and soon it’s just the principal and the three boys standing alone in the hall. Principal Jennings did not like fighting in his school. He condemned it. He had no problem expelling kids for fighting because to him, the act is barbaric in nature and barbarians do not belong in his school.

“Why are you boys fighting in my hallway?” He asks. Lyle looks at the small boy, Jeff to get approval from his smaller friend to tell the principal about Tom’s connection to Tyler’s attacker. The police had already questioned him yesterday about the attack too, since they managed to get a name from an already traumatized Tyler. Bill’s confession was before the questioning, however, so Tom played dumb and denied even knowing there was an incident. He didn’t want to be linked to anything and he didn’t want Bill to go to jail. 

“Kaulitz sent some crazy kid in a purge mask to kill Tyler!’ Lyle exclaims. Soon all eyes are on Tom, who is not confirming nor denying these accusations. They couldn’t prove anything. He merely told Bill a name and the rest is history. He had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. He told Bill to leave him alone and he didn’t want him hurt just scared. So to Tom, he is innocent.

The principal brings Tom to his office and writes out detention slips for the two older boys, sending on their way to class. The door to his office is closed and Tom is left alone with this grown man, sitting in his bland office. He doesn’t move in the chair and his gaze remains directly on the floor. He didn’t want to talk to the older male and he didn’t want to discuss Bill either. This is his life and his business. He wanted no one else to try and separate them. 

“Thomas, is what Lyle saying true? Did you really have another student targeted?” 

“No, sir, I did not. I had nothing to do with Tyler’s attack. I didn’t even know it occurred until yesterday when the police came knocking on my door, asking me all these crazy ass questions.” The man wasn’t convinced Tom had problems with Tyler and he knew that to be true. His mother has called numerous times about Tom’s bullying problems and they only seemed to escalate. From simple shoves to physical assault. The teen would never admit it to the principal whenever he questioned the teen about it just like he isn’t admitting to knowing the attacker right now. 

“Thomas, you need to understand that behavior like that is gruesomely unacceptable. I am going to contact your parents about thi---.”

“Why are you calling my parents when I had nothing to do with this?! I didn’t fucking send anyone to kill Tyler Loman, I couldn’t care less about that pompous, arrogant, bloated fat fodder, that you seem to idolize so fucking much!”

“Watch your mouth, young man or I’ll have to document you for that,” the older male scolds. Tom is infuriated. Sure, he did have connections to the attacker, Bill but he didn’t send him to kill him. He merely stated a name and that was it. He told Bill it wasn’t a big deal and it was just some kid that like busting his balls. He didn’t care about Tyler being a bully. He could defend himself if he had to and eventually Tyler would’ve gotten sick of fighting with him constantly. This whole thing is being blown out of proportion and Tom is getting sick of it. He’s tired of everyone thinking they know what’s best. He’s tired of everyone always lecturing him, always bothering him, always chastising him. He isn’t some stupid child. He felt that he is old enough to have his word be trusted and that’s the bottom line. The principal starts going through his desk, trying to locate Tom’s file when he is bludgeoned over the head with the floor lamp that sits in his office. He is unconscious sprawled out over the desk. 

Tom leans in, making sure his lips are pressed up against the principal’s ear. His hot breath makes the tiny hairs stand up but that only served as a flag that he is still alive. The nerve endings still work. “I don’t like it when people like you try to categorize and organize me,” he whispers into the unconscious man’s ear. He held this same hatred to his father. The man always tried to analyze his kids, claiming he knew more because he dealt with teen angst his entire life. Bullshit. He drops the lamp, making a noticeable clunking as the metal hits the floor. He stands precariously behind the older male, trying to decide what to do to him. Should he leave him here? Kill him? Hurt him? He didn’t know. This is the first time, he’s ever acted on his dark thoughts before. He usually punishes his own body when someone treats him like a child or hurts him. Bill’s poisoned seeped deeper into his veins than he thought. The only issue would be that Tom himself is enjoying it. 

A grin stretches across his face and he starts to laugh. Not his usual laughter either but a serious deep in the chest laugh. One that if his father had heard, he’d be terrified. It sounded as if the boy had completely snapped and lost it. “I want to play a game,” he smiles. He drags the man to the 7th floor window, ties the curtain rope around his neck, and chucks him out the window, using the desk as a weight. The people below scream in horror as the man is pulled from unconsciousness and begins the struggle against the bindings. The teen gathers up his bag and exits the office, he laughs even more hysterically as he walks out of the building and to the skatepark where he normally meets Bill. The dark teen is there and he’s got blood on his clothing. Tom isn’t scared or shaken up by his appearance, only intrigued as to why the teen is covered in blood.

“I finally did it. I finally made him bleed. His blood was out of my reach but now, I have it all over me and it’s orgasmic,” Bill moans. Tom gets closer, his hands dangerously close to Bill’s arms. He doesn’t want to touch in fear the other boy will lash out. He merely stands before him, hoping that maybe just maybe Bill will initiate physical contact. He relaxes his fingers when he sees that Bill is thrusting himself into his arms, slowly. He curls his fingers gently around his arms and pulls the skinnier male into his body and places his warm, plump lips onto Bill’s. He pulls away and smiles brightly. “I did it, Bill. I found my vice. I killed that son of a bitch,” Tom exclaims, grin firmly planted on his face. 

“Did you now? Who was it that you killed Tommy?”

“That bitch of a principal, he tried to chastise me, categorize me, and treat me as my father would. I hated it! So I eradicated him. Is that what I’m supposed to do?” Tom asks. To Bill the teen is like a small child. Easy to manipulate but at the same time not dumb enough to fall for everything. Bill enjoyed being around him because Tom’s a whole different level of crazy. He’s not like Bill at all, who appears and speaks like a madman. No. Tom is a different category altogether. He’s a madman with a brain and the ability to rationalize. He doesn’t just act. Every move he makes in his mind is provoked. To Tom he can remain level headed when committing the act, only breaking to maintain some sanity with it was over. Bill fed off of that. The skinnier male knew from the moment they matched eyes that Tom was a true sociopath at heart, his emotions were feigned. Bill could tell when someone was being truly emotional and when someone just didn’t have any remorse or emotions at all. Bill had two emotions, hysteria and rage. Tom had two as well anger and rage. 

Bill pulls his new friend out of the skatepark and into the wooded area that surrounded them. He comes there all the time to hide out or find small creatures to torture for the sake of his enjoyment. Tom isn’t phased by the dark clouds that seem to loom over. He doesn’t flinch when he smells the death on the earth that surrounds them. He sees the small carcasses strewn around but doesn’t turn around and hightail it out of the woods. He embraces the darkness and the feelings of death. Death is just a reminder of life. You must die to live. Bill stops once they reach what looks like a log cabin. “The man….he used to come here all the time to do things, things he shouldn’t have,” Bill mutters.

“What things, Bill?” The teen only shrugs and pulls Tom inside the small cabin. There’s a bed, wood stove, and heater. The pantry and icebox are in the small cooking area as well as a small table with two chairs. The dishes were in a cabinet next to the bed and so was a wooden dresser with clothes, all black, sticking out. “Are we going to live here?” Tom soon asks when he sees Bill pulling some things out of the icebox. The teen doesn’t respond, he only chops up the meat on the cutting board and puts it into a pot. His intention is to make a stew for him and Tom to eat and enjoy. 

“You and I have to stay together. The world doesn’t appreciate reality as you and I do. We see the flaws and we clean them up. We eradicate the problems. The man….he was raping….that little girl. How can you do that to a little girl?!” Bill exclaims while stabbing the cutting board. He gets splinters all over the counter and floor as he expresses his clear frustration. Tom doesn’t know who he’s talking about but he didn’t really care. The teen stops stabbing and then puts the knife down, another grin plastered to his face. He turns to Tom and starts to giggle. “It’s okay now though, I just had to kill them all. The little girl for laying there and taking it and the man for doing it,” he grins. There is nothing for Tom to say because he agrees. “The people in this world need us to remind them that they live in a false reality. Those who don’t accept it, get punished,” Tom smiles. “Bill, you and I can do this, together.”

The dark haired teen crosses the room and takes Tom’s hand, pulling him in for a kiss. Once apart, Bill looks at Tom and grins widely, “Where should we start?”


End file.
